Influence: A Life at Court
by Sissa Goose
Summary: Madame Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun has been brought to court by her artistic talent. Suddenly immersed in the lives of nobility, will she thrive in indulgence, sex and abundance or will she drown in a sea of lies and rumors while hiding a secret love affair?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun is a real person and I have tried to keep her life as acurate as possible in this story. Of course, we cannot know of her life at court (along with any intimate relationships she may have had) but, given her appearance and personality, I try to weave a story around her. **

**Please rate kindly and you will continue to get chapter after chapter. **

**I hope you are as excited to read this as I am to write it. **

I gather my skirts hastily as I run through the rooms of the Château de Versailles, my heart hammering in my throat. It is almost as if it wishes to reach the apartments of the Comte de Provence before I do.

I pass through the Hall of Mirrors, but cannot relish in its beauty.

I glance up quickly at the ceiling, at the crystal chandeliers shimmering with the dawn light. Looking at their reflections in the mirrors, they seemed to go on forever.

I could not believe there were only seventeen.

As I enter the apartments, I slow my pace, eager not to make myself seem brusque.

When the door opens, I am greeted by the Comte Claude-Louis de la Châtre, one of the Monsieur's gentlemen. He smiles kindly and gestures for me to enter.

I seem to stumble into the chambers, my eyes wandering over the furnishings, the beautiful curtains framing the gardens outside, the rows of geometrically shaped little trees marching away from the château.

The sound of feet on the carpet before me rouses me out of my trance.

I look up and see the shining face of the Comte de Provence himself, his arms outstretched, reaching for my hands, which have burrowed themselves behind my back.

I am shocked by this improper greeting, but hide the surprise in a small grin and stretch out my hands.

As he clasps both of my hands, I execute an awkward curtsy and hold it, waiting for his words to bring me back up.

"Welcome Madame Lebrun," he breathes, ever the air of nobility.

I raise my head to meet his murky brown eyes and I can feel myself blush.

He lets go of my hands and gestures over to a small white settee in the centre of the room, just in front of a grand fireplace.

"May I introduce my dear sister, Mademoiselle Élisabeth Philippine."

I look past the Comte and spot a young girl, no more than twelve, spread on the settee, her light blue gown puffed out around her feet.

She reminds me of a cloud, wandering throughout a spotless sky.

No longer tangled in the arms of the Comte de Provence, I can more easily curtsy, and do so, tucking my satin slipper delicately behind me.

When I raise myself back up, she is already off of the settee and standing tall in front of me, her blue eyes radiating a kind of allure and comeliness.

"Praise of your works have reached even the most stuffed ears of those at Versailles. I am truly honored to see you perform in the medium in which God himself seems to have stationed you."

I nodded and lowered my eyes.

"It is sheer euphoria I feel when I hear such words of praise, especially when it comes from your lips, dear Princess."

My words are strong and unwavering, but in truth, my heart is fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.

I feel out of place with these beautiful nobles, their soft locks powdered white and seeming to sparkle, while my own tresses are limp around my shoulders, the pallid brown not even enough to catch the light.

The young princess' cheeks flush with a most intense shade of rouge, while my own are flushed and blotched.

"Come, let us sit." The Comte de Provence seems to chirp like a bird when he speaks, the words harmonizing into a beautiful song.

The Comte and the princess are seated back down on the white settee while I am seated across from them, in an overstuffed chair.

The princess lounges back into the cushions and closes her eyes, relishing in their comfort.

After a moment of harsh silence, the Comte speaks:

"May I offer you my congratulations for your recent induction into the Académie de Saint Luc."

I smile politely and smooth out a fold on my dress.

"Thank you. It was recommended I join by my friend and confidant, Gabriel François Doyen."

He recognized the name and his eyes brightened.

"Ah, another master of his skill. I have seen his _Miracles des Ardents _at the St. Roch when I had last visited Paris."

As he continued on about various works of art, I began to tune him out, for I was too busy studying the contours of his face, his soft chocolate eyes and his coral lips, deviously curved upwards into a grin.

He reminded me of my own brother, Etienne Vigee, when I captured him in oils in 1773.

Both of their eyes conveyed a certain curiosity, a childlike wonder.

The Comte de Provence suddenly glances at me with a question in his brown eyes—

he knows I haven't been listening.

My face flashes red in embarrassment, but he reaches for my hand and pats it,

laughing all the while.

"Pardon my wandering mind," I remark, "but I was comparing Monsieur to my own dear brother. It is uncanny, for both you and he have a compassion to your looks, a strength I cannot describe."

His brows furrow as he deciphers what I have said. I am struck by my frankness in recalling my family to him, so far from my childhood back in Paris.

I begin to get nervous as he keeps his unwavering gaze upon me.

He drops my hand as there is a knock on the door of his apartments.

The door is opened and my servants are sent in, carrying my easel and paints.

It is time to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

It is the second day since my arrival here at Versailles and still my mind does not truly comprehend the reality of the situation in which I am placed.

While I walk in the lower gardens of the palace, my arm brushes past some of the most powerful women in France, and I must twist my handkerchief tightly around my fingers to keep myself from bursting out.

I know no one here except for my servants and my recent acquaintances, Elizabeth Phillippe and her brother Louis. We are hardly on terms to walk together throughout the palace, and they are far too important to ever want to. After all, Louis is the grandson of the currently reigning king, Louis XV.

No, I shall just walk alone, my imagination keeping me company.

I glance up to the sky, the entire west a beautiful melding of pink and orange.

I remember sunsets before coming here, just two days ago, but never in my life have I seen anything as glorious as the sight before me. Not even the most mastered painter would be able to capture the majesty of it all.

The people continue parading down the sidewalks and back into the palace before the sun sets.

None of them seem to notice the golden planks of sunlight squeezing out their last gleams before they must retire for the night, the very breath of the Gods issuing forth, their colors exploding across the sky.

But it's alright. It means it's all mine. It'll be my little secret, this moment.

Nobody will be able to steal the glory of this moment.

I am here. I am alive. I am at the center of the universe.

At supper, I sit amongst the court in my newest gown. It cost a small fortune, straight from Le Grand Mogol on the Rue St Honore, but it was well worth it. It would hardly be fitting to be seen in her working garments, all tinged with paints.

I am very hungry, but my stomach will only allow me to gulp down some soup, it is so tense.

I can look across the hall and see the king himself feasting. His appetite doesn't waver as he piles food onto his china plate. Beautiful faces and extravagant gowns line the king's table, little Elizabeth Phillippe amongst them. She is so young but at the same time incredibly graceful. She knows her place and keeps there, not at all the way I acted when I was her age. I was too rebellious, feeling like I owned the world.

But, she sits there calmly, her hands in her lap, knowing she owns the world.

"And what is your name?" I hear a voice wrap around my ear, making me nearly swallow my soup spoon.

I look to my right and spot two soft brown eyes smiling next to me.

"I am Marie Louise Elisabeth Vigee-Lebrun." I burst out, bowing my head lightly in accordance.

I glance back up to the face, and see my neighbor's face has broken out into a grin, making sharp creases around his eyes.

"That's quite a mouthful." he replies, breaking off a piece of bread and ripping it apart with his teeth.

Is he laughing at me? It is hard to tell if his smile is one of good nature or ridicule.

"What do your friends call you?" he asks me. I glance around me to see if anyone else is paying attention to this exchange, but nobody takes any interest in the matter.

"Amongst my friends, I am known as Beth, but as I don't know your name, I cannot yet consider you amongst them."

I am surprised with my own incisiveness. But, he merely laughs it off and continues.

"I am Charles Alexandre de Calonne," he bows his head, returning the gesture.

"And what do your friends call you?" I coo back, taking a quick sip of soup.

"Charlie."

There was a moment's hesitation as our eyes locked on each other. The entire room had begun roaring with sound, but I couldn't hear a word of it. I feel as if I once again am looking upon the sunset, like I am at the very center of it all. I can hear my own heart beating, beating fast but beating strong.

Then at once, he looks down to his plate and the spell is broken.

"But of course, you are not among my friends," he mumbles, "so you cannot address me in this way."

"No, I am not." I return, not sure what to make of this man.

He continues on with his meal, as I sit there, confounded, my spoon hovering in midair.

The easy, unimpressed look on his face makes it seem that the last few minutes of conversation had never even occurred, as he scoops up a big dollop of cream on his forefinger.

I know it is only polite to let it go and continue throughout supper with my hands pressed gently in my hands, like Mademoiselle Elizabeth Phillippe, but I cannot take this sudden change of attitude.

"And what is it you do, Monsieur?"

He glances over at me quickly before returning to his plate underneath him.

"I am a statesman." he responds, nibbling on a small pastry.

"Ah, a gentleman of the parlement, are you?" I shoot back, my hands gripping around my soup spoon.

He merely nods. He is playing with me, I know it.

"A man of notable business abilities, I am sure." I continue, not realizing where I am taking this. " A great entrepreneurial spirit, one of unscrupulous political action, and yet unable to make proper dinner conversation."

He blushes and glances around the table after my sudden outburst.

"Not at all. I am actually rather skilled in the area of proper, civil dinner conversation."

I begin to tear at the napkin in my lap, furiously trying to appear graceful and gentle to the court, while inside I am boiling at this so-called 'statesman.'

"We could for instance discuss the events over in America if your interests lie in government," he mentioned, reaching for his wine goblet.

"Or we could talk of music. Are you a fan of Mozart, for instance?"

I didn't respond, but kept my eyes on him, unblinking.

"We could talk of art. Or of the latest fashions from Paris. Or we could talk of sunsets."

I can feel my heart jump up to my throat, making me utter a tiny gasp.

He turns to me at this, his soft brown eyes quickly noticing my hands fidgeting angrily underneath the table. "What do you think of sunsets, Mademoiselle?"

I open my mouth to respond, but quickly close it again, feeling as if my soup would come back up with my words.

"Aren't sunsets breathtaking?" he whispers, inching closer to me. "They make one feel as if they are the only one in the world, just gazing up at the clouds, painted in the brightest colors. Brighter than even thought possible, melting into one another."

"You..." I breathe, the only word I am able to squeeze out.

Suddenly, the blaring of horns echoes throughout the hall, signaling the end of the meal.

Before I can even blink, he has risen from his seat and marches out of the hall, falling in with the rest of the court.

I am just left there, my fingers twisted around my napkin, my teeth digging firmly into my bottom lip as the court begins to rise from their chairs, and off into their private quarters.

If I was to scream now, would they take any notice?

I decide against it and manage to pull myself out of my chair, straighten my gown and smile my way past the incurious eyes around me.

Now, as I walk back to my own private rooms, my stomach drops to the polished floors as I desperately try to recall the way I felt in the gardens. But it is no longer there.

That formidable calm that had taken me over was now long gone, ripped out by that monster with the chestnut brown eyes.

No, I will not allow myself be dominated in such a way any longer. Tonight I end my second day in this kingdom, this palace of the gods as a mere commoner, not worthy to walk its halls, but tomorrow I will wake a noble. An aristocrat. A force to be reckoned with.

And my little statesmen better be prepared for that.


End file.
